Every Christmas is the Last
by LilliasCraven
Summary: Why was Clara all alone on Christmas Eve? Continuation of "Last Christmas." Multiple trigger warnings- this is going to be dark. Set between "Last Christmas" and "The Magician's Apprentice"
1. Chapter 1

_"You really should be waking up too, Clara."_

 _"Just a little longer."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Every Christmas is last Christmas." Clara explained sadly._

"Well, look at you, all happy. That's rare," Clara said in a teasing voice. She was stumbling a bit as they dashed toward the TARDIS, those silly slippers she was wearing no doubt. The Doctor didn't care.

"Do you know what's rarer? Second chances. I never get a second chance, so what happened this time? Don't even know who to thank." The TARDIS thrummed in welcome as Clara stepped over the threshold. Even she seemed happy to have Clara back. Her lights warmed a bit from the cold blue.

"All of time, all of space. Still not arguing? There really are Christmas miracles aren't there?" He couldn't resist a little spin around the console as he entered in new coordinates. Clara still seemed a bit dazed, reaching out to touch the edge of the console almost hesitantly, like she still couldn't really believe it was there.

"No ice cream headache, then?" he asked her more gently. She shook her head then, and smiled at him.

"No ice cream headache." Her voice was a bit wistful, which confused him for a moment. He supposed she was thinking about Danny or the crabs or even pudding-brained Shona. An idea struck him then, a brilliant idea sure to cheer her up and wipe that happy/sad look off of her face. Hadn't he asked her to stop doing that? He needed to write these things down, apparently.

"Ice cream!" Clara actually jumped. He started reaching for levers even before he finished talking. "I am taking you to the best ice cream parlor this side of Andromeda! They have a salted caramel there that will-"

"Is...is it warm there?"

"Warm? It's an ice cream parlor, Clara, if it were warm all the ice cream wou-"

"Could we go somewhere warm?" Clara's voice was odd. Well, her voice always sounded odd, she never seemed to say "u" properly, but even more odd than normal. "I think, I think I'd like to be somewhere warm."

"I thought you weren't going to argue, Clara," the Doctor said, turning to look at her sharply. She'd pulled her dressing gown tightly around her, emphasizing how thin she had become. No wonder she was freezing.

"Fine, fine, we'll go someplace warm, boss, whatEVER you want," he said huffily. Clara laughed softly, the motion drawing the Doctor's attention to her lips, which were turning slightly blue. Hiding his sudden alarm, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

"What's the matter, didn't pay the heat bill on that big house of yours?"

"Hmm?" Clara seemed to have lost her train of thought.

"House. Big. Not your flat. Words too big?"

She scowled at him, much to his relief. "House not mine, snow is cold," she said, parroting his tone back at him. That was good, irritated Clara was better than spacey Clara.

"Then whose house is it?" Surely she hadn't found herself a new boyfriend already, she'd seemed pretty fixated on Danny Pink. Though there was that other man she'd mentioned...maybe he'd misunderstood her...

"Gran's," she said shortly, in a voice that did not encourage a follow up. Naturally the Doctor ignored that.

"Clara, why were you all alone in your Gran's huge house on Christmas eve?" That was strange. The last Christmas the Doctor remembered with Clara seemed to involve 843 people all stuffed into her tiny flat. And a decapitated turkey. He wondered whatever had happened to the turkey.

"Doctor?" Her voice was unsteady as she looked up at him.

"You're doing that thing with the eyes again, I asked you not to do that thing with your eyes." He waved his hands around as he spoke, trying to diffuse the tension. It wasn't working.

"Doctor, I just...I'm so very happy, so happy I got to see you again. I've missed you very, very much."

"No, no, nononono, we don't do this, Clara, remember, we aren't _nice."_

"Sorry, I forgot." Her smile actually seemed to reach her eyes this time. "Somewhere warm, then, with ice cream?"

"You're the boss."

Her face crumpled then, and he wondered what he'd said wrong. She gasped and doubled over.

"Clara!" Her skin was like ice. What the hell?

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, Doctor..." Turning her head away from him she vomited onto the floor. The TARDIS pinged her distress. Before she could collapse completely the Doctor lifted her into his armchair, the one she was always sniping from him.

She coughed a bit, her voice raw. "Sorry. Can't...trust...Google..." She was clearly having trouble getting the words out. "S'posed to be...quick and easy..."

"What are you talking about, Clara?" The Doctor stared at the sonic, not believing. Not...she wouldn't...no.

"So...sorry..."


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Clara became aware of was a beep, beep, beeping sound.

And that smell. That awful smell, a mixture of mustiness and antiseptic and latex. It was unmistakable.

It was only then she became aware of the hard mattress beneath her, and the chill from too thin a blanket. They never gave you enough blankets.

She was back in hospital. Again.

Damn.

"Doctor?" her voice came out as a croak, barely audible even to herself. She tried swallowing a few times, trying to get some moisture into her sore, sore throat.

"Doctor?" That was better. That actually sounded like a human being.

It must have worked, for she heard footsteps.

"I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me, sweetheart. The Doctor's seeing another patient right now." The voice was cheerful and pleasant, if a bit condescending. Clara hated her instantly. "Shall we check your vitals while we're here? We'll just check your temperature and-"

Cracking open an eye, she struggled to read the nurse's name badge. Debbie Tittsworth, RNA. A little sparkly star sticker was placed where the "i" belonged. Her scrubs had little pastel dinosaurs cavorting across the fabric like some sort of technicolor prehistoric orgy. Clara closed here eyes again.

"Throat hurts."

"Some ice chips might help that, shall I get some for you dearie?" _Yes, and stick them up Barney's purple-_

 _"_ Yes, please." Clara whispered. She waited until the nurse had disappeared out the door before trying to sit up. Easier said then done, every muscle in her body ached, her belly felt like someone had punched her. The room began to swim, and she suddenly noticed an awful taste in her mouth. All in all, sitting was a thoroughly bad idea.

"The Doctor can see you now, sweetie. Why don't you just lie back and wait until she gets here, why don't you?" Nurse Sparkly-Dot seemed to appear out of nowhere, and gently but firmly pressed Clara back against the mattress. Clara let herself fall back, weak with disappointment.

 _She._ The Doctor was a she. The doctor was not The _Doctor_. She had dreamed the whole thing.

She let her head sink back into the pillow, and didn't bother to fight the tear that burned its way down her temple to pool at her ear. The Dream Crabs hadn't been real. Santa, the Elves, Shona, all of it. Danny. All of it. Even the nectarines. The Doctor hadn't come back. It was all an hallucination...

"Clara," the doctor paused, reading her chart. "Oswald, is it?" The doctor's voice was kind. Young, but kind. "Yes. Debbie here tells my your throat is bothering you? Not too surprising, given how much we pumped out of your stomach last night." She read the chart further, her lips pursed. "A bit rubbish being in hospital on Christmas, isn't it?"

Clara opened here eyes for a moment. She caught a glimpse of dark skin and an earnest face above the white coat.

"You're here." Clara managed. "On Christmas." Was it still Christmas? Probably Christmas Day, now. Great, now she sounded like a Dickens novel.

"Part of the profession. Someone always needs to be here, guess I drew the short straw. Or someone I owed a favor to might have dragged me out of a perfectly warm bed in the middle of the night ..." Clara suspected she wasn't meant to hear that last bit. The doctor was frowning at her chart. "We really should check with your regular doctor about getting your prescriptions adjusted. Far too easy to make a mistake like this, especially on holidays when everyone is drinking..."

Clara closed her eyes and let the woman's voice wash over her, the sound melding with the beep of the heart monitor. None of it had been real. She had imagined it all, hallucinated it. The Doctor wasn't coming back.

Yet again, another awful Christmas.

Once, when she was very young, she'd loved Christmas. Her Mum was alive then, and both her Grans, and her Dad had been...different. But that had been a long time ago. After her Mum died her Dad...changed. Grew bitter, and suspicious. And of course Linda always managed to spoil every holiday she found herself attending.

But somehow, year after year, she held out hope. Hope that this Christmas would be like the ones from her childhood. They never were, of course. Christmas was always a source of tension, year after year, yet somehow Gran usually managed to lighten the mood. _Gran._

Sometimes she thought she'd met the Doctor on Christmas, on a magic cloud in the sky. Maybe she remembered it, or maybe it was just a hallucination, too. They'd never really discussed those odd half-memories Clara would glimpse from time to time. At first, they'd just been too happy to be alive, and then later, it became too awkward. And well, now, of course, they never would, because the Doctor was never coming back.

Even so, she'd remained hopeful, yes. The "Spirit of the Season" and all that. Somehow last year she'd been coerced into hosting Christmas in her new flat. And...God, she'd had no idea how bad a bad Christmas could be.

She'd changed after that. Well, not as much as he'd changed, of course. But she'd changed. She became a monster. And now she was alone.

God, she hated Christmas.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Shit!"_

When Clara had collapsed in front of him, so quickly he didn't even have time to catch her before she hit the cold metal floor, the Doctor had a fast decision to make. Most human illnesses he could treat on the TARDIS, which was faster and far more advanced than anything on this planet for the next few millennia. Despite his deliberate vagueness he was quite knowledgeable about human medicine. Another option was to take her to New New Earth, or drop back a few decades and get Strax to heal her. Something about her laboured breathing and the clamminess of her skin made him suspicious, though. Something was wrong here, something beyond a winter flu bug.

Not liking the readings the sonic gave him, he quickly grabbed her chin and firmly tasted her lips. "Fah!" he spat. "Still a mess of chemicals, aren't we?" He pushed up the sleeve of her granny nightie to check her faltering pulse. What he saw there made him frown even more.

"You're not getting out of this so easily, Clara Oswald."

What he needed now was information, and that meant braving the primitive hospitals of 21st century Earth. Fortunately he had an old friend on the inside...

* * *

To be fair, Martha Jones had taken it rather well when he'd turned up on her doorstep on Christmas Day, not having heard hide nor hair of him in five earth years. His new, old face didn't phase her, but then, he'd looked far older during the year that never was.

At the hospital she'd taken charge, barking orders in a way he never remembered happening before. Clearly Martha had gained some authority over he years. She'd evicted him from the room where Clara was being treated, speaking rapidly about stomach pumps and preserving dignity. The Doctor had never had much patience with humans' need for privacy, but in the end he found himself planted in the waiting room along with all the other distraught family members.

"Hell of a way to spend Christmas, isn't it?"

Oh, lovely. Conversation.

"Yes. It is." The Doctor said shortly.

The young man took that as an invitation to continue. Holding a paper cup of untouched coffee, he sat down next to the Doctor.

"Kidneys."

"What?" The Doctor was startled. Could this human see they were the wrong colour?

"My wife. Kidneys." He nodded to the door leading into the depths of the hospital. "Got diabetes when she was pregnant, never went away after that. Made her kidneys shut down. Kids are at her sister's." The man stared into his cup, unseeing. "Don't know why I'm telling you all this..."

"Me neither." The Doctor stood up and strode into the hallway. "You!" he pointed to the first nurse he saw. "Where is Clara Oswald's room?"

The woman gaped at him. "Clara who?"

"Oswald. Room. Where?"

Regaining her composure, the nurse frowned. "Who are you? You're not supposed to be back here without checking in at-"

"It's okay, he's with me," came Martha's voice from behind him.

"Yes, I'm with her. Clara?"

A strange look passed over Martha's face before she composed herself. "We should go to my office." She tilted her head significantly at the blatantly eavesdropping nurse.

"After you, _Doctor_ Jones." The Doctor didn't even bother to hide his impatience.

* * *

"I can't just give you that information, Doctor! It is a total breach of data privacy! Do you know what the NHS would do if I told you her medical history?"

The Doctor paced around her tastefully decorated office like a caged lion. "You're trying to tell me she "accidentally" swallowed a cocktail of Prozac and Ambien on Christmas Eve? Clara Oswald? Clara Oswald has a little alarm on that phone of hers to remind herself to take Vitamin D once a day. She doesn't _accidentally_ take anything."

"I'm not saying anything at all, Doctor. I can't _tell_ you her medical information without her consent." Martha looked at the Doctor, her face unreadable. "Doctor, what has Clara's behaviour been like lately? Has she been acting any...different?"

"How should I know? I haven't seen her in...months, I think." He tried to do the math, figuring out how much time had passed for her. "She called me a while after the Master-Missy returned..."

"Wait, what? I thought he was dead!"

"That must have been six months ago, give or take." He hadn't known at the time Clara had been lying to him about Danny returning. They'd been lying to each other, of course, trying to set each other free for their own happiness. That had worked out _so_ well. She'd worn a baggy white jumper, and her smile hadn't reached her eyes. Why hadn't he seen at the time she was trying to tell him something?

"Wait, wait, the _Master_ is back?"

"Never mind that now, what is the matter with Clara?"

"Doctor, I can't...Okay, I have to go do some rounds." The abrupt change of topic threw the Doctor for a moment. Martha was getting good at lying, too. Since the Doctor practically dragged her out of bed, he knew she didn't have rounds. "Why don't you wait here, Clara isn't going to wake up for a while...and Doctor?"

"What?" he practically growled. Waiting was not on his agenda.

"Don't let me catch you _touching_ my computer. There are all kinds of records you shouldn't be looking at on there."

It took him only a moment to catch on. Good old Martha.

"When I get back we'll talk."

It only took a few seconds to download the contents of Martha's computer to the sonic. True to instructions, he hadn't touched a single key. Sorting through files quickly, he ignored pictures of Micky, pictures of two generically cute little boys, and far more cat pictures than he would have suspected of Martha Jones, several dozen patient files and finally found Oswald, Clara.

 _Damn._

The Doctor abruptly found himself sitting down, trying to process what he read.

"Clara, Clara, Clara, what have you done?"


	4. Chapter 4

Eyebrows.

That was the first thing she saw.

Grey, bushy, furious eyebrows.

She shut her eyes again.

"Oh, no, Clara, you're not getting off that easily." One long finger was suddenly prying her eyelid open to shine a bright, buzzing light into her cornea. The sonic, she thought.

"'top it" she muttered, batting at his hand. Or tried to, anyway. She seemed to be tethered to the bed. _Oh._ Of course she was.

He stopped her speaking, his hand across her mouth, not quite a slap. Not quite.

"Don't talk Clara. Your breath would knock out a Slitheen. But that wasn't your plan, was it? What exactly was it, eh? What the hell were you _thinking_?" The Doctor's voice got colder and angrier the longer he spoke. He began to pace, his hands clearly itching to do... _something,_ anything to occupy them.

"Were you thinking at all? At any point did it ever occur to you-"

"Doctor?" her voice sounded small, even in her own ears.

"What?" he barked, clearly just getting started in his diatribe. The Doctor hated being interrupted mid-rant.

"Can we go home now?

All the air seemed to _whoosh_ out of him at once, and he suddenly looked very much like the very old man he was. The very old, very sad old man. Deflated.

"Yes, Clara," he said quietly. "We can go home."

* * *

The next few hours were a blur to Clara. She remembered She thought she must have passed out again, because when she woke up she was definitely not in the hospital, but in her old room in the TARDIS.

Well, sort of her old room. In her early days of traveling with the Doctor the TARDIS had delighted in moving her room, deleting its contents, and generally making her life as miserable as possible. Later, after she and the TARDIS got to know each other a bit better, things had settled down. For the most part. Splintering herself across time and space for the sake of her Thief had apparently softened the old girl to Clara, even allowing her to pilot the ship from time to time. And only putting the occasional jaguar in her room. Just to remind her who was in charge. Christmas on Trenzalore had, in some ways, made allies of the two of them. Neither one really knew quite what to do with this angry, grey-haired, praying mantis of a man, a Doctor whose face she had never seen in all her thousands of lives. Later, when she'd stopped staying overnight on the TARDIS entirely due to her subterfuges with both Danny and the Doctor, the TARDIS had almost seemed to miss her.

This room looked very much like her old room used to look, with a few subtle differences. The mattress was much softer, and extra blankets appeared, blankets she'd never been able to find when the TARDIS was being playful and turning the air temperature down to Arctic levels. An armchair, overstuffed and leather, had appeared in the corner.

Clara decided she had spent enough time in bed. Springing out of bed she made it nearly 3 steps before the room spun and her knees buckled beneath her. Was it her imagination or had the carpet suddenly become softer?

"Thank you, old cow," Clara whispered, her voice still dry and hoarse. The TARDIS hummed in response. "Just don't tell on me, okay?"

Feeling much like the old woman she had dreamed herself to be, Clara slowly, slowly stood up, leaning on the bed for support. Taking stock of herself, she finally noticed she was no longer wearing a hospital gown or her Gran's flannel nightie, but silk pyjamas. White silk pyjamas that glided over her sore muscles, the fine threads catching... Self-consciously, Clara pulled the long sleeves down over her hands, even though there was no one there to see.

Who had dressed her? She dearly hoped it was Debbie-with-the-heart-over-the-i and not...not someone else. Chilled, she stumbled her way to the wardrobe, hoping to find a robe or something to cover up with. Something to warm up with, she amended. A large, soft cardigan, grey and woolen, fit the bill.

Exhausted, she half fell into the armchair that was so conveniently placed near the foot of her bed. A little _too_ conveniently, she thought, eyeing the half-drunk cup of coffee and sloppy pile of books sitting on the small table next too it. She reached out, hesitantly. Still warm.

Overwhelmed, Clara suddenly felt claustrophobic in the cozy bedroom. She had to, she had...she couldn't breathe. Have to...Get. Out.

Gasping, Clara flung herself at the bedroom door, slapping at it ineffectually until the TARDIS opened it for her with a _hiss._

She made it ten steps.

 _ **A/N, sorry for the delay in updating, I've got alot going on in real-life that is taking alot of my brain power! I will try to update again within the week, I intend to conclude this story before Series 9 premiers. As always, your reviews are deeply appreciated.**_


	5. Chapter 5

"Going somewhere?"

Clara jumped a foot, shaking badly until the Doctor took pity on her and grabbed her by the elbow. He was struck once again by how thin she had become. How frail. Had she stopped eating entirely? Given what he had seen in that file, he didn't put it past her.

"I...just needed some air," she managed, not meeting his eyes.

"Good luck with that." She looked confused. "Spaceship, remember? Time, space, vortex, distinct lack of oxygen?"

Her eyes finally focused on him. She looked annoyed. Good, she was feeling better.

"That for me?" she asked, not bothering to wait for an answer, reaching for one of the cups of coffee he had balanced in his other hand.

"Not that one."

"Why, is that one poisoned or something?" She obviously regretted her words the moment she said them, judging by the wince on her face.

"No, but it has six sugars. _This_ one is yours. Decaf."

"Decaf? You're going to deny me caffeine at a time like this?"

"Do you really want to add any more chemicals to the cocktail you've already had? I'm not intervening if you throw up on the floor again, the TARDIS nearly ejected you into space." He was lying, of course, the old girl had been so distressed by Clara's "illness" she had sped them to the hospital without any prompting from him. Clara didn't need to know that, of course.

Clara made a face.

"It's getting cold."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Clara leaned heavily against the wall, warming her hands around the beverage. The heat brought a little color to her pale lips.

"So, you bought a house."

"What?"

"House. Big single family dwelling. Not your flat."

She looked blank.

"Christmas? Elves landing on the roof? Big empty house? Not your flat?"

"Not my house."

"You're trying to tell me you were house-sitting on Christmas?"

"No."

"Well? What were you doing all alone in that giant house on Christmas?"

"Can I sit down now?" Even her voice was tired. The Doctor realized he was still gripping her arm, holding her up against the wall. He released her, and she slowly slid down to sit on the floor. After a moment, he sat down beside her.

"Well, Clara?"

"They went to Majorca," she finally said, as if that explained everything. The leap in logic escaped him.

"What?"

"Dad. And her. Linda. They went to Majorca. For Christmas. They said it was too depressing..."

"Why didn't you go with them?" The Doctor was trying to wrap his head around it. He'd assumed initially that house was Clara and Danny's. Of course, he'd been so very wrong about that.

She shrugged, staring into her coffee.

"They were going to have an estate sale."

The Doctor was really lost now.

"Clara, you're going to have to speak a language the TARDIS can translate or we'll never get anywhere."

"They were going to let strangers go through her things. So they wouldn't have to deal with it. Strangers were going to go through everything."

"Whose things, Clara?"

"Gran's."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"When?"

"A few months ago. When..."

He thought back. A few months ago, by Earth time, was around the time...

"When you called me." When he'd let her think he'd found Gallifrey.

"Yeah."

She rested her head against his arm, still clutching her decaf coffee, carefully pulling the cuffs of her cardigan over her wrists.

Silence.

"It's in the laundry, you know."

It was her turn to look confused. "What?"

"Your Gran's nightie. It's in the laundry. It got...messy."

"Thank you." They sat there, just quietly reflecting.

"She pinched my bottom, once."

Clara laughed out loud, the sound seeming to startle her.

"She liked you, you know."

"I liked her."

The were silent again.

"Where are we going?" Clara finally asked.

"Going?"

"All of time and space?" she reminded him, covering a huge yawn.

"You are going back to bed."

She pouted. "It's lonely in there."

"What, you need me to keep you company?" he bantered.

Clara's lips twitched, and the Doctor realized what he'd said. "Shut up, that's not what I meant."

"Of course not, Doctor." For a moment the deep sadness in her eyes was replaced by a look the Doctor couldn't quite place. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was...speculation?

Clara, with the aid of the helpful wall managed to stand on her own. "I can't stay in there any longer, I'll go mad with my own thoughts."

It was a fair point.

He thought for a moment, then deliberately set his coffee down on the floor where it wouldn't spill, right next to Clara's nearly untouched cup. Before Clara could argue with him, he bent to scoop her up into his arms, settling her slight weight against his chest. Her hair was loose and tickled his nose.

She was too startled to say anything, and he made it to the console room before she got her wits about her. He set her down in his armchair, the one she loved to make fun of and then snitch whenever his back was turned. She could rest there as easily as anywhere else, and he could keep an eye on any further "escape" attempts. Not that she would make it far regardless, he knew everything that happened on his ship.

"Thank you, Doctor," she murmured sleepily. She really did need the rest.

"For what?"

"Coming back."

Her gratitude made him uncomfortable. "Go to sleep, Clara."

"M'kay." But she kept watching him, though the blinks of her eyes grew slower and slower, and the moments her eyes were closed began to grow longer than the moments her eyes were open.

"Clara?"

"Yeah?"

"How long has it been?" It had been so many years for him.

"How long has what been?" Her eyes stayed shut.

"Since you burned your dead turkey in the TARDIS' oven."

"Mmm?"

"Clara?"

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"That was last Chris'mas."


	6. Chapter 6

Clara leaned heavily on the bathroom door and stared at the thin red line welling up on her arm.

She'd talked the Doctor into stopping back at her flat, so she could pick up her keepsakes and sundries she couldn't live without. The rooms already had a scent of disuse in the air, probably from the dead plants. Was she ever coming back? Perhaps. It was as good a place as any to send her mail.

She supposed she should feel something towards this place. Her first home of her own. Her first time hosting Christmas, her last Christmas with Gran. Her first real job as a teacher. Where she and Danny had made love for the first time.

All she felt was empty.

And somehow, it was all too much.

She told the Doctor she would be out in a few minutes. She wasn't trying to kill herself, not now. Not the time before, or the time before that, as she held her razor and carefully cut into her arm, carefully, carefully, where it wouldn't show under her long sleeves. A thin red line, perfectly parallel to the other thin lines marking her arm, some still red, others faded to pink.

And one deeper cut, from a night when the shallow lines weren't enough to deaden the loneliness. That was the one, that deeper cut, the one that put her on the watch list, that had landed her in hospital the last time. It too had faded from angry red to pink.

Pink.

Everything that had happened to Danny Pink had been all her fault.

She'd loved him. At least, she'd tried so very hard to love him. She'd convinced herself she loved him. But truly, he was too good for her. Maybe he was a tiny bit controlling, maybe in her heart of hearts she knew it wouldn't have worked out, but she'd tried so very hard. Seeing Orson had convinced her that this was her destiny, her true love. But she hadn't been good enough. It was all her fault.

When the Doctor changed, she eventually grown to accept the new him. He was different. Colder, snarkier. She grew to appreciate this new side of him, of course. But damn, she was lonely sometimes. She missed the easy affection his previous self showed her, the casual physical contact. Just being touched.

And Danny helped fill that void. She would always love him for that.

But of course it was her fault he died. If he hadn't been on the phone in that moment, _oh God..._

And then, of course, it all had all hit her. How badly she'd used him. But she loved, him, right? She had to show him, how much she loved him, still loved him. She had to.

She'd died to save the Doctor, literally, not just once, but over and over.

She could not do less for Danny. She had to. And so did the Doctor, because it was _his_ fault too.

 _His_ fault, for leaving her so broken after Trenzalore, she was driven into the arms of another man.

A man who deserved better than her.

And so she tricked the Doctor, or thought she had. Dream patches, keys. Of course the Doctor was always one step ahead of her.

And then Danny didn't come back.

He had the bracelet, and he didn't come back.

Because she didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve happiness. And it wasn't the Doctor's fault at all, it was all hers. For lying, to herself, to Danny, to the Doctor...

She'd almost, _almost_ come to terms with it when her Gran died a few months later. That was when she called the Doctor. She had not seen him since that day the Cybermen revolted against Missy.

She was ready. But he had found Gallifrey. So she kept it a secret, along with the secret she'd never been able to tell Danny. She would at least set the Doctor free.

And she at least, had had her little secret, the secret she'd thought he'd figured out, but no, it had still been her secret...

Dimly, she was aware of a pounding on the door behind her.

"Clara? What are you doing in there? Even you can't spend that long looking in the mirror."

Hurriedly, she wiped at her arm with some toilet paper and pulled her sleeve down to cover it. She randomly threw the rest of her toiletries into her bag and unlocked the door before the Doctor had a chance to sonic it.

"Ever heard of _privacy,_ Doctor? I don't know about Time Lords but there are certain things humans prefer to do alone."

He gave her that look that always made her feel like a mouse being inspected by a hawk.

"Run the water next time."

That wasn't what she had expected to hear.

"Um, what?"

"It makes the lie more believable."


	7. Chapter 7

The Doctor glared at the control panel as Clara pretended to sleep in his chair over by the bookcases.

He knew she was feigning sleep. He could tell by her too-carefully regulated breathing, the twitches of her eyelids, and the pounding of her pulse he could see in her throat. More importantly, he was paying attention.

He wondered how many of her lies she would have gotten away with had he or Pink been truly paying attention.

But then, of course, maybe she wouldn't have felt the need to lie so much in the first place.

The truth had been staring him in the face, that day Clara broke into his TARDIS, but he hadn't been paying attention. _"_ _Yes, you're quite the mess of chemicals, aren't you?"_ It was right there, but he wasn't _paying attention._

Abruptly he entered in coordinates and threw the TARDIS into the Time Vortex, the jolt startling Clara into grabbing the chair's armrest for support. _Gotcha._

"Aren't you going to get dressed?"

"Ahm…what?"

"Dressed. Put on clothes. Do things to your hair. I only have one mirror but it will have to do."

"I'm already dressed." Looking self-conscious, she pulled down the sleeves of that enormous jumper she'd taken to wearing all the time.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, Doctor, I really, really am."

"You can't wear all that," he gestured to her getup, "to where we're going."

"We're going somewhere?" She sounded uninterested. Clara never sounded uninterested.

"I thought I just said that."

"Did you?"

"Clara."

She finally looked at him. The circles under her eyes weren't quite so bad now, but she was still dreadfully pale. Worse was the deadness in her eyes.

"Apathy doesn't suit you, Clara."

"I'm sorry." She looked at the floor.

"Clara."

"What?"

"Don't be sorry. I don't want you to be sorry."

"What?"

"Stop apologizing, Clara. You need to stop apologizing."

"What do you want, then?" She finally met his eyes. The Doctor recognized the expression he saw there, he'd seen it enough in the mirror over many years. He didn't like seeing it on her.

 _Self-loathing._

 _Despair._

 _Pain._

Clara was in pain, and had been hiding it for far too long.

"Right now I want," he paused, waiting for her to jump in. She didn't. "Right now I want you to get dressed."

He held out a hand to pull her to her feet. She stared at it as if she didn't recognize it for a moment, then grasped it almost convulsively. She leaned against him, just for a moment before turning to walk back towards her room. She was stopped short, the Doctor not letting go of her hand. Clara looked confused.

He leaned closer to her, tucking a random strand of hair behind her ear. That one that always fell over her eyes when she didn't have it pinned back. He was surprised by how soft it was, so much softer than he remembered from the days he wore a different pair of hands. A very, very long time ago.

Clara raised a questioning eyebrow, and he realized he'd forgotten what he was going to say. No, no, couldn't do.

"Clara," he said gravely, covering his lapse.

"Hmm?"

"Don't," he held up his free hand, his fingers admonishing, "don't forget to brush your teeth."

She snapped at him, much to his inward relief and outward annoyance. That was more like the Clara he knew and...the Clara he knew.

* * *

The beach was sunny. It had every right to be so, since the planet it was on orbited two stars. The sand was pink and the water the deep, proper blue only seen on the very best beaches. A gentle breeze brought cooling air from over the ocean, and some sort of flying creatures were calling to each other. It was an idyllic backdrop, clearly meant for lovers.

The noisy fishing boats, filled with noisy fisher-beings, were not impressed by the backdrop. They were far more interested in getting their fish, or what looked like fish, to the bustling market set up on the shore, just beyond the reach of high tide. The breezes didn't quite reach the market stalls, but the blue-skinned locals more than made up for it in their colorful dress, what there was of it.

Clara looked out of place, beads of sweat streaming down her pale face, as she trudged along next to the Doctor. Temperature didn't really bother him, but Clara was obviously feeling the heat, especially as she had stubbornly worn long, concealing sleeves and layers. He could have told her not to bother, but he was curious to see how long she'd cling to her illusion.

Quite long, it seemed.

"The sea life here is actually quite fascinating, Clara," he told her, gauging her reaction, "what with two suns and 3 moons the tides are quite spectacular. Annually over 90 percent of the land mass is actually under water, so these markets are actually amphibious." He waved a hand at the bazaar all around them.

Clara stared at him, a puzzled expression touching her face.

"Amphibious? Like frogs?"

"Yes, exactly! Except not really, well, not at all like frogs, more like turtles in fact, you see the buildings are-"

"Okay," she said, interrupting him.

"The buildings are...okay what?"

"Not frogs." Clara's eyes looked a bit glassy.

The Doctor cursed himself. He was pushing her too much.

"I should take you home -home to the TARDIS," he clarified, seeing the slight alarm in her eyes.

"No! No, this is...nice," she said, with a slight smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Nice? Clara, this is a fish market. It smells like a fish market."

"Well, it's...different?"

"It is different, I'll give you that." He got them each a chilled juice from a nearby stall, and watched her until she actually drank it. Her colour improved a bit, and the Doctor made a mental note to remember to water and feed her more frequently. She used to remember for him. Remembered quite loudly on several occasions.

He was suddenly bored with the noisy fisher-people. If he remembered right, there was an inlet not far from here. Of course, the tidal waves and floods changed the topography fairly often, but he thought it hadn't been too many centuries since he'd been here...

"Come on then," he told her, making an abrupt turn, leaving the market behind. It took Clara a few steps to catch up with him.

"Um, where are we going?" she panted. Sometimes he forgot how short her little legs were. She usually wore those shoes with the heels to lure people into thinking she was a towering Amazon. It didn't work.

"You could walk faster if you didn't wear those shoes, you know."

"Noted. Whatever happened to your sandshoes, anyway?"

"Those weren't _sandshoes,"_ he told her gruffly, but he was glad to hear her getting some of her cheek back.

"Okay. But we're walking in sand. Could be useful."

"I'll manage."

"So will I."

"Good."

"Good." Pause. "So where are we going?"

"You'll see."

By the time they reached the inlet, which was really more of a lagoon at this point in time, Clara was sweating and cross and altogether acting more like her normal self.

If the beach before had been idyllic, the inlet could only be described as intimate. It was deeply secluded, rock outcroppings and water-tolerant trees providing some much needed shade. Actually the trees were a type of seaweed but he didn't think Clara was interested in that. The water here was far calmer than the public waterfront, it's ripples gleaming invitingly in the heat.

The Doctor began to unbutton his shirt.

Clara gave a rather strangled yelp. "What are you _doing?"_

"I fancy a swim. Care to join me?"


	8. Chapter 8

"You can't be serious!" Clara spun away from the Doctor, her face flaming. What was he playing at? Granted, his previous incarnation had been rather...casual about nudity, this regeneration had always been very buttoned up. And as he had very pointedly reminded her, he was _not_ her boyfriend.

"I'm _always_ serious, Clara!"

"But...but...what if someone comes?"

"So what if they do? I'm swiming, not murdering someone."

"But you're...?"

"But I'm what, Clara?" He was needling her on purpose, he had to be.

"Oh, nevermind!"

"No one will come anyway."

"Why not? This seems like a nice place."

"The locals think it's haunted."

Clara whirled around, catching a glimpse of pale skin before turning her back again. " _Is_ it haunted?"

"Now that you mention it, I've been meaning to look into that..."

"Doctor!"

"Relax, Clara, the ghosts won't bother you while you're swimming. Or, well, they might but they can't do anything to you. Well, they can but I can keep them away with the sonic."

"But the sonic is in your _pocket!"_

"Yes, yes it is."

"Are you _laughing_ at me?"

"No Clara, I'm trying to get you to go swimming. It is 40 degrees in the sun and you're wearing wool. I can smell you from here."

"No, Doctor."

"Suit yourself."

Clara heard water splashing and the Doctor swearing a bit under his breath. A bit more splashing and then silence. The sound of waves, a hum something like a cicada but probably wasn't. A bead of sweat dripping off of her nose.

She didn't want to take her jumper off.

Maybe she could just wade a bit. Just to cool off.

As casually as she could, she slipped off her boots and stockings. The sand was quite warm under her feet. On the shore she could see the Doctor floating on his back. _All_ of the Doctor. She looked away.

Dipping a toe in, she couldn't avoid a squeal. The water looked inviting, but felt like a melted glacier. _Cold._ Cold for humans, anyway. The Doctor didn't seem to be affected by it.

"It's warmer once you're all in."

"What?"

"Get all the way in the water. It doesn't seem so cold then."

"I'm not going in the water in this."

"No, I wouldn't recommend that."

"It isn't that bad. Wading is enough for me."

"Clara, just take off the damn jumper. I already know about your arms."

Clara found she had no answer to that. Had she been that obvious?

No. He just made a lucky guess is all. Otherwise, he'd know it wasn't just her arms.

"I'm good, thanks."

Water splashing. Cicadas. More sweat running down her face. She sighed.

"Keep your eyes closed."

"How can I protect you from hungry ghosts if my eyes are closed?"

"Just do it!"

"Yes boss."

Keeping her back turned to him just in case, she slipped out of her skirt and jumper. She should have worn a cami under but she'd dressed in such a hurry she'd forgotten. She slowly waded into the pool, resolutely keeping her eyes down and stifling another yelp at the temperature. Once the water was up to her chest she ducked her head underwater. The Doctor was right, it was better once she was all the way in.

It was actually very peaceful, the cold water, the gentle lull of the waves. The cold seemed to numb all of her feelings. She didn't feel sadness or guilt here in the water, it was like it washed all her sins away. No pain, no sorrow. So cold and peaceful. A lassitude began to creep over her. Calm, so calm, she didn't even try to fight it as her head dipped farther and farther underwater. No air, no anything.

Peace.

* * *

Clara woke up to find a very naked, very angry Doctor staring down at her. Her throat and ribs ached.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Full eyebrows. He was beyond angry, he was furious.

Clara turned her head away, coughing up water. She wondered how much she had swallowed.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. It always seemed like she was sorry. Probably because everything was her fault.

"Don't be sorry!" The Doctor exploded. "Just tell me the wretched truth for once!"

He grabbed her wrist. "How long, Clara? How long has this been going on?" He dropped her arm, it fell limply to Clara's side. How could she explain? That when the guilt and grief and loneliness became too much, a little pain that she inflicted on _herself_ gave her a tiny feeling of control?

"Are you trying to kill yourself, or do you just care so little for everyone around you you can't be bothered to stay alive?"

Clara sucked in her breath hard. "Don't you dare," she croaked. "Don't you dare tell me _I_ don't care!"

"Do you, Clara? Trying to commit suicide on Christmas Eve is pretty damn selfish, don't you think?"

"Who was going to care? Dad and Linda couldn't be bothered. Gran gone. Danny gone. He could have come back, but he _didn't._ And you..?"

"What about me, Clara?" The Doctor looked murderous, but Clara was too far in to back off now.

"You tricked me! You tricked me on Christmas, then you regenerated and you _left me behind_. You won't even _touch_ me. And then you left me again. I tried to tell you but you were so ready to hand me off to Danny. And then, and then..." Much to Clara's dismay, she felt tears welling up. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry anymore.

"Then what, Clara?" The Doctor's voice was icy.

"Nevermind." Clara felt very exposed in her damp bra and knickers. She curled up on her side, her arms crossing protectively over the stretch marks on her belly and tried to stop the sobs that threatened to escape her. She failed.

Gently, awkwardly, warm arms circled around her from behind. Clara wept harder, her whole body shuddering.

"Shh, Clara." But Clara couldn't stop. She couldn't breathe, she felt the whole world closing in. She felt the need to run, but she couldn't stand. Panicked, she started to thrash but she still could not stop crying, not now that the floodgates were opened.

"Clara!" The Doctor's voice sounded very far away. A hand to her forehead, and then...

Nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor debated taking Clara back to the TARDIS, but decided to wait until she woke up naturally. He had been so alarmed by her sudden hysterics he'd finally put her to sleep with a gentle mental nudge before she hurt herself. _Dad skills._ The joke somehow didn't seem so funny anymore. Definitely _Dad_ skills, she's like a _daughter_ to you, he reminded himself. If he kept repeating it over and over he might start to believe it.

He found his boxers before starting anything else. Sand is, of course, a pernicious enemy that attacks where you least suspect it. He draped Clara in his coat, noting the temperature was beginning to drop as one of the suns was dipping below the horizon. She would probably sleep a while. Clara's little body had been through quite the ordeal even before her near-drowning. He admitted to himself he was tired as well. He'd thought both his hearts would stop when her head had oh-so-calmly disappeared under the water.

Briefly he wondered whether the lagoon really was haunted. That could be fun, or at least not-boring. He hadn't found a proper ghost in quite some time. He'd have to survey the local population, perhaps set up a stake-out. With coffee. Coffee was good. Clara, of course, would whine and complain and quail in fear, then get mad at him and rise to the challenge. Or, perhaps not. Clara didn't fear much anymore.

Clara was becoming more like him.

It troubled him. Sometime after his long exile on Trenzalore she'd begun to change. Was it then? His memories from those first hours of his regeneration were hazy. She'd been upset. He'd blamed it on his newly gray hair. Was that when she'd stopped trusting him? Perhaps. Perhaps Pink hadn't been the cause of it all, but a reaction. _I'm not your boyfriend, Clara._ It had been a preemptive strike, of course. He'd seen fear and rejection in her eyes, and thought it had to be his new face. _Oh Clara._ He'd thought leaving her to live out her life with Danny was the best choice for her. He should have been paying better attention.

He stared into the flames of the small fire he'd built, the salts from the driftwood causing the flames to burn in exotic colours. It had taken some creative tinkering to get the fire started without matches. The sonic still didn't work on wood. One of these days he would remember to fix that. He was debating rummaging through his pockets to see if any emergency marshmallows were stashed there when Clara started making signs of waking up.

Giving her a moment to regain a little dignity, he walked down to the water's edge. The water that had looked so inviting earlier seemed colder now, and much darker with one sun completely set, and the other on it's way. All kind of dark things can hide beneath a still surface like that. A soft rustle in the sand told him Clara was standing next to him.

"I thought you knew, you know."

"Knew what?"

"About the Ambien. And the rest of it. You wrote 'you are dying' on all those chalkboards at Gran's."

"I was trying to warn you the Dream Crabs were killing you."

"I know that now." Clara shivered, wrapped in his coat and not much else. He should probably look for her clothes before it got too dark to see. Instead he sat her down by the fire. The heat felt nice on his hands as well. This body had a touch of arthritis sometimes. He sat close beside her. For warmth. "But that was what I wanted, that night."

"You don't now?"

"No." She didn't sound completely sure of herself. "I don't. I don't think I do. It all...it all just got to be to much, you know?"

"Yes." The Doctor reflected on his own darkest moments as Clara fell silent.

"How far along were you?"

Clara blinked, the question seeming to come out of nowhere. She looked like she was going to pretend she didn't understand the question, but the stretch marks on her abdomen were unmistakable. Even if he hadn't seen her NHS records. "When?"

"When you tried to steal the TARDIS."

Clara didn't answer for a moment, but stared into the fire as though she would find the answer written on the flames there. "Three months." She swallowed. "Just a little over three months."

"Did he know?"

"No. I couldn't get up the courage to tell him. Not in person. I had to write myself a sticky note. To tell him. I was going to. And then the car..." She sucked in a quick breath before she could continue. "And then I never got to tell him."

The Doctor thought he was beginning to understand. She was quiet for a while, just listening to the crackling of the fire and the soft splashes from the water. He didn't say anything, and it was a while before she spoke again.

"I started to bleed at the end of the sixth month. He was a little boy. Clara's voice was flat. Unemotional. "There was nothing they could do."

The Doctor was not fooled. Almost of its own volition, his arm wrapped around one thin shoulder, then the other. She stiffened at first, then rested her face against his chest. It felt awkward at first, the hugging, but the Doctor thought he was getting the hang of it. It was actually quite nice to hold Clara tight against him. More than nice. She made no sound but the firelight caught the shine of the tears that quietly streaked her face.

The Doctor added up the dates in his head. If he had the Earth dates correct, she would have been around 4 months gone during their meeting in the cafe. The loose clothes she wore would have easily hid the signs. And she was, of course, an accomplished liar by now. And he, of course, hadn't been _paying attention_. She must have lost the baby shortly after her grandmother, not long before Christmas. Before she'd recovered even from losing Pink, and...and his own abandoment. He felt a flash of anger at Clara's remaining family. No one should have gone through all that alone.

"How do you do it, Doctor?"

"How do I do what, Clara?"

"Keep going? When everyone is gone? When it's all your fault." Oh Clara, you don't know what guilt really is. He thought back on all the deaths he had caused, the planets that had burned, and the friends and lovers he had lost. His own family.

"Well, I run alot," he admitted. "Run before they get too close, before it hurts too much. I spent a century on a cloud, once, mourning"

"On a cloud?"

"It took someone fairly impossible to break my shell."

Clara's eyes grew wide as she pondered that. "Someone impossible?"

"Very impossible." Clara lifted her head, staring him in the eyes for the first time in as long as he could remember. He couldn't guess what she was thinking. Slowly, slowly she leaned her head into him. He stopped breathing for a moment, then she softly kissed his cheek.

"Running. Running sounds good."

The Doctor took her hand gently. "Running is dangerous, though. Sometimes our problems catch up to us."

"But its fun though, yeah?"

"Yes, it is fun."

"I think..." she took a deep breath "I think I would fancy an adventure."

"Would you?"

"Oh, shut up and give me some planets." It was small, but the Doctor was sure he saw the hint of a smile.

"Yes, boss." He stood up so abruptly Clara's legs dangled in the air a moment before he released her. "TARDIS, Clara, now!" Holding her hand, _purely so she wouldn't trip in the dark with her inferior human eyesight_ , he told himself, he started racing for the ship, pulling her along in his wake. It startled an honest laugh out of her.

"Doctor, our clothes!" she reminded him, laughing, tripping in the soft sand.

"Oh, leave them. Let them wonder. Maybe the ghosts left them behind."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere fun." He stopped abruptly. "Clara, you must promise me something."

"What is it?" She was still laughing a bit, not quite catching up with his sudden gravity.

"Clara, I'm serious."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Promise me you won't be reckless? I can't have you getting addicted to adrenaline just because of a few tragedies. It is still dangerous out there."

"I'm never reckless, Doctor."

"No, of course not."

 _The Doctor and Clara will return in the Magician's Apprentice_

* * *

 ** _A/N Hope this answers a few questions, and maybe raises a few more. I wanted to explore Clara's motivations during Last Christmas a bit further, I hope you have enjoyed delving the deeps with me! I had planned to stop here, but if there is enough interest (PM or note that in the review section) I may continue throughout Series 9, working with the canon as we know it. Until then, let us enjoy our Clara Oswin Oswald while we still have her!_**


End file.
